Insomnia
by AlyssPotter
Summary: There's a reason Bart Allen was always moving, doing something-it kept him from falling asleep. Didn't necessarily keep the nightmares away...
1. This Is How It Is

**A/N**

 **Hiya all! I know it's been awhile, buuuut Bart just snuck up on me and was like "Write me a fic _or else_ ," and this was the result! Enjoy!**

 **Summary: There's a reason Bart Allen was always moving, doing something-it kept him from falling asleep. Didn't necessarily keep the nightmares away...**

 **Based on my 24 hours challenge experience (which was partly stupidity on my part and some odd urge to read fanfiction all night; basically, I pulled an all nighter, it sucked, and I came up with this idea). Why Bart? Because all day I felt the unnecessary need to chatter at top speed, devour ungodly amounts of food, and pass out on my desk. (With a side of unwanted paranoia).**

 **Disclaimer: No YJ or Bart Allen for me...**

 **Insomnia**

Bart's hand was turning blue by the time he finally jolted up in his bed, fingers twitching from the vice like grip the speedsters teeth had on them as he tried not to scream. His green eyes were wide and frantic and scared and horrified, but the darkness actually...made him feel at home, if only for a moment. Like Neutron was on the other side of a dark cavern they'd chosen that night to sleep in, because it was a great hiding place from the ever searching Reach watch lights. The man would be pacing and scowling at the flaking sky, protecting Bart and taking care of Bart (the man had been the crashest second dad-ish like figure/friend ever)!

But then his alarm would ring, or the comm would go off or Megan would invite herself into his head, and he was flippant Impulse, legs moving faster than his brain like a newborn calf.

But that dream...it haunted Bart often, which wasn't surprising, but the speedster wasn't weak-he wouldn't have survived the Reach thus far had it been so. He could survive a petty nightmare.

But without Neutron, without his truest crashest bestest friend in the whole world, he felt lonely, like a sheep in the midst of a lions cave (as the situation called for). Really, the only way to deal with all these unclaimed...memories...was to make them go away. Bart was smart, he could do that.

The REM cycle only started at a certain point in your sleeping pattern, so if Bart could avoid that moment...

And honestly, what were a few lost hours of sleep? He was fairly sure Batman and Robin-or any of the Batclan, really-had seen worse. Two hours and maximum food had Impulse up and ready for action! If only for not the side effects.

* * *

People didn't like it when he was sarcastic or talked a lot, so he tried to stay quiet or chatter to the point that they would ignore him.

That always worked. Why would you look for something that was already there? They never saw the crazed look in his eyes when something triggered a particular mode-un-crash-as-possible memory, and the certainly never slowed down enough to know the real Bart Allen, the one who wasn't a twisted facade or a demonic child-the one dying and crying and whimpering but holding on because-they-would-get-him-out-they-always-did (and wasn't it ironic that they were the ones going too fast? Odd how his gift loved to mess with him).

That paranoid feeling of people laughing at him behind his back? He _tried_ to ignore it, but that aching feeling in his chest wouldn't go away (he _really_ wanted to rest).

Bart sped into the kitchen and flung the fridge open with trembling, red gloved hands, frantically searching while trying to look calm (he couldn't go to sleep, not now! But his eyes were just so _heavy_ nowadays, maybe a few minutes wouldn't-)

Food, food, and more food stacked in his arms. Food was good, didn't laugh at him, didn't berate him when he messed up. It just sank happily into his stomach like a fly in honey, refueling his ever-draining energy.

Lunch. That was always fun. His friends were worried. 'Are you ok?' 'How are you holding up Bart?' The speedster bit back a grimace, choosing instead to grin that aweful-atrocious-absolutely-not-crash fake smile. Time to play, the wheel of Bart! What horrific disaster should he cause today?-Bart mused in his head-take a spin and find out!

...the lack of sleep might have been effecting him more than expected.

* * *

Blinking, Bart noticed hazily that his vision was going fuzzy, a slow blackness rolling from the corner of his eyes. Seated at the table as he was in a debriefing, he couldn't well get up and start running to wake himself up. Gritting his teeth (that had worked at first, but now he was just wearing down the already damaged broken-down-to-the-point-that-was-like-bad-and-mode-and-stuff teeth), he anxiously thought of every technique Jamie had taught him on how to stay awake in class.

Uh, think about something potentially embarrassing. Bart snorted to himself and crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair with a creak that attracted a few curious look. Ya, already embarrassed, not gonna help. Uh? Pinch his arm? Using the edges of his fingernails, Bart dug into his arm. Hard.

He yelped, inadvertently causing the Team to stare at him again. Sheepishly, he ducked his head. He would have to-Bart hesitated, knowing those annoyed glares would be staring at him in moments, again, but began tapping his leather-clad foot away at super speed anyways (the small jolts did wake him up a little, thankfully), the resulting clanging grating on everyone's ears. Blue Beetle, at least, had the decency to ignore it, but Batgirl's murderous glare did a number on Bart's withering feelings.

He bit his lip and tried for a grin.

She huffed angrily and rolled her eyes, fists banging on the table louder than necessary as she turned her attention back to Nightwing. Flinching, Bart looked down at the steel table, absently noting the way the streaks of silver had little waves in them. His eyes traced the lines as they twirled and danced, eyelids drooping at the mesmerizing display.

Before he was even aware of it, Impulse's body shut down, trying to pull him into this half-lulled sleep. Unfortunately, it hadn't considered the location or consequences. Everyone at the table jumped as Impulse's head thudded against the table, brown locks flopping down in defeat behind their owner. Bart jolted upright almost instantly, falling backwards and sliding off the slippery plastic chair (usually it didn't matter, but his instincts were...off) landing on the concrete floor of the debriefing room with a crash.

Dimly, Bart noticed the absolute silence and stillness of the room as his shivering pale arms covered-in-the-coolest-uniform-ever-that-was-way-too-cold tried to pull their half-delirious owner to his feet.

Bart stood up and bowed, waving his hand like the queen of England.

* * *

He was in the middle of this ordered chaos, the center of the very reality he'd helped create. Bright streamers hanging from the ceiling, music pumping through the Cave as Team and Leaguer alike partied (the Reach was gone, wasn't that good? They were still beating the bad guys, wasn't that crash?). The younger members were at the edges of the crowd, but Bart had ended smack. Dab. In the center.

Bright multicolored lights shone down in his face like those retro ones police used to try and intimidate their victim. Bart wove seamlessly through the hustling bodies, barely giving his sweat-soaked hair a second thought, his uniform seamlessly in place (just like every other hero there).

It should have been like he was a part of it all, like he actually belonged here. But Bart felt like he might as well have not been there at all.  
Sure, people glanced at him out of the corner of their eyes, but they were leading their dance partners around his (dangerously) still form.

Who was he kidding? He was an insomniac; a traumatized kid from a parallel future he'd prevented by traveling back in time to destroy his own timeline. He would never, ever belong in such a place at this.

Eyes wide, Bart backed away, boots scuffing against the gritty ground and he turned, sprinting out of the hall without a single thought. The heroes didn't even feel him as he phased through their motionless bodies, didn't notice as he phased through the Cave wall, as he ran and sprinted and yelled and screamed and stumbled away from this reality that was, in many ways, much worse than his old one.

 **A/N  
...ya. That ending was a lot more depressing than I thought it would end up. Want more? Tell me and I'll think up another chapter! Or something...**

 **I finally put the finishing touches on this tonight (after having it taunting me in docs for 2 weeks)! Sorry for not updating, well, anything this past like half-month, marching band's been insane! I am working on chapters for all my stories though, so they'll hopefully be up soon!**

 **But seriously! Do try to get some sleep in, otherwise school the next day sucks. A lot. (I speak from experience...multiple times. Reading fanfiction all night may seem appealing at first, but you will absolutely 100% regret it the next day. When you fall asleep in class, for example...multiple times...)**

 **And do your homework! Let's all pass this year together :}**

 **Reviews=Input!**

 **Kisses!**

 **Alyss**


	2. Intervention (the unwanted help)

**Insomnia 2**  
 **A/N**  
 **...guys, I'm so tired. Competitions these last few days have been exhausting! But, uh, anyways...**  
 **I got quite a few requests to continue this story (I LOVE YOU GUYS!) so I decided that the circumstances warranted another chapter :}**  
 **So, ladies and gentlemen, please welcome...TIIIIIIIIM DRAKE! Er, I mean Robin! Psh, who's Tim Drake? ;) Anywho, on with the (now multiple chaptered!) story!**

 **Disclaimer: As much as I wish I could claim these characters (WALLY WOULDN'T BE GONE! *sobs*), I can't...**

 **Chapter 2**  
 **Intervention (the unwanted help)**

Ever since he could remember, Tim was a different child. Smarts, brains, whatever, he didn't fit into the stereotype, the status quo, cliche, etc. His parents were never home like all the other kids, for one, so bedtimes were never really...established.

Of course, Tim was a child, and no parents meant no example (whether it be good or bad). So, with his worn Sherlock Holmes book in one hand and flannel striped red and black blanket draped around his shoulders, Tim would snuggle into the corner of his bed, a yellow night light illuminating the fading pages of the book as blue eyes breathlessly darted back and forth, anticipation building as his brain soaked in knowledge.

The sun outside slowly dipped down below an adjacent hill, golden shadows flickering briefly before disappearing and leaving behind a black night.

It was silent.

The house was black. The curtains were closed, and the house was still.

The grandfather clock in the corner ticked back and forth, slowly, clanging softly with a soft tap on each side as it swung. The fridge hummed softly in it's efforts to sustain the cold temperature programmed internally. Mr. Next-door-I-leave-my-lights-on-all-the-time's dog barked and a cat shrieked in response. A bush ruffled softly in protest.  
And in the back of a room on the corner of a bed huddled next to a wall, a young boy sat and read, and as night turned to day, the light illuminated his bed in a soft glow.

Yawning, Tim pushed his glasses up his nose, head nodding off slightly as he struggled to stay awake. He was almost done with the 8th book-

Blue eyes fluttered shut and black bangs puffed and twisted as winds buffeted them, sneaking through the slightly ajar window. Morning rose, but Tim was down, down, down below in Morpheus' realm.

* * *

Years later it felt just the same. The late nights, the comfortable cloths, the sense of security. Except, it was completely different.

Robin flipped over the top of an armored crooks head, wrapping one leg around his throat and using the other as momentum to flip them both. The man hit the ground with a groan and Robin rolled into a fighting stance, neatly dodging a sloppy punch aimed his way by one of the concussed villains. Smirking, Robin pulled his fist back and slammed it into the man's face, knocking him out.

Sometimes these villains made it too easy.

"Robin, report," a gravelly voice growled in his ear and Tim rolled his eyes behind his mask, touching a finger to his comm link.

"Got a few crooks down Crime Alley, no big-baddies tonight, it seems," Robin joked, tying up the three-man hit team against a light post. A grunt responded and the line went quiet (Bruce was articulate as ever). Tim hummed to himself, standing back and eyeing the criminals critically. "Aha!" Robin snapped his fingers, digging a hand into his utility belt and rummaging around until he found just what he was looking for, adding it to the bundle before disappearing into the night.

Twenty minutes latter, Jim Gordan scratched his head somewhat confusedly, staring at the crooks and the shining red, green, and gold bows on their heads. A plain, crisp white card was tucked into the ropes, a message vastly controversial to the glowers that were etched on each villains face.

'Merry Christmas!  
-Robin  
P.S. Batman says hi!'

Across Gotham, Tim was jumping-or what felt more like gliding-from rooftop to rooftop ("'ickle-baby-bird's flying!" Jason would have cackled), humming a random holiday tune that had decided to invade his drowsy mind (when was the last time he'd gotten more than an hour of sleep?). He 'parked' on the tip of the Wayne Enterprise building, perching on the edge of the ledge and enjoying the rare peaceful moment when a golden streak darted down the street, zigzagging between cars and pedestrians, gone seconds after appearing.

Instantly, Tim jumped off the roof, firing his grappling hook to follow one of his best friends. What was Bart doing in Gotham on Christmas Eve of all days (er, nights)? Tim had heard that there was a celebration party at the reconstructed Cave, but he hadn't felt much like going, preferring to fold in on himself much like Bruce did every year. Dick had tried to pull him there with no avail ("Spoilsport!" Nightwing pouted, sticking his nose up in the air and marching to the Zeta tube in mock anger. Sometimes Dick was more of a child than Tim...).

Anyways. Bart.

Robin must have tailed him at least five blocks already (he may or may not have cheated with a few shortcuts he knew), and Impulse didn't look like he was stopping any time soon.

"Impulse!" Robin called, flinging a few bird-a-rangs at the speedster to try and capture his attention. The yellow lighting streak swerved, quickly darting around the projectiles and continuing on his way. Tim frowned; so Bart was avoiding him. The question now was why.

Huffing, the Boy Wonder jumped off the roof once again, firing his grappling hook again...and again...and again...chasing a speedster was harder than it looked...and very, very tiring.

Growling, Tim pulled out a small capsule and flung it in the speedsters path, narrowing his eyes as the coil of rope popped out of the black container and spun, breathing a sigh of relief as Bart fell to he ground with an 'oof,' tangled black string wrapped around his legs.

Robin landed on the ground, swiftly darting up to Impulse as the speedster vibrated out of the restraints, spinning to his feet.

"Wait!" Tim called desperately, not at all inclined to continue chasing Bart across Gotham.

Bart froze, back turned to Tim with his shoulder slumped in defeat. "What?" Bart snapped half-heartedly, crossing his arms and turning to face Tim.

Gasping for breath, Tim bent over and braces his forearms on his legs, desperately sucking in the much needed oxygen. "Wanted...to see...if you were alright," Tim wheezed, clutching his cramped side in pain.

"Ya I'm-uh, Tim, dude, are you ok? You look kinda moded," Bart noted, eyebrows furrowing as he studied Robin worriedly. Tim waved a hand dismissively, slowly pushing himself up and adjusting his mask.

"Fine," he said shortly, taking in several deep breaths before continuing,"I'll be crash in...a moment. Why are you in Gotham?"

Bart's eyes widened slightly in panic before he relaxed, taking on a laid back attitude that Tim doubted reflected his mood. "What, a dude can't visit one of his best bros on Christmas? You Bats sure are strict, so moded! Don't be such a meat bag, Timmy!"

"I distinctly remember you just avoiding me, then ignoring me, and then trying to avoid me again. Why?"

Bart giggled, twirling his hands to wave it off,"Oh, it's nothin Timmy-I just wanted to see how long it would take you to catch me! And-if I counted right-I think it would add up to about 3 minutes, 47 seconds, 19 milliseconds, 38 micro-"

"Ok, I got it," Tim sighed in part amusement and part exasperation and rolled his eyes, deciding to leave it be (until he could hack a few security cameras later), reaching into his utility belt and quickly hiding the item behind his back. "Well, I suppose I can give this to you now, since you're so impatient to be on your way."

Bart stumbled back as a squishy package was pushed into his arms, the bright red wrapping paper glittering in the dull lighting. "Uh, what is-"

"It's a present! Did you not have those in the future?" Tim raised an eyebrow as he saw Bart flinch, almost unnoticeably, but his trained eyes caught the movement and categorized it for the later investigation.

"Duh, obviously we have presents," Bart laughed nervously, "I just thought you Bats didn't, uh, celebrate it. Whiiiiiiiich is why I got you a present too!"

Tim blinked rapidly as he was almost plowed to the ground, feet stumbling backwards as Bart latched himself to Tim's cape. "Merry Christmas!" Bart exclaimed, wrapping something around Tim's arm before darting away.

"You didn't open my present yet!" Tim called after the rapidly disappearing light, smiling slightly as he heard the obnoxious laughter echoing back to him. At least Bart was feeling better (and what was with those dark bags under his eyes? He looked like he was getting less sleep than Tim, which was saying something...).

Glancing at his arm, Robin raised an eyebrow at the pink string attaching the small package to his appendage, tugging on the string to untie and catching the parcel. With furrowed eyebrows (this was honestly the first time he had no idea what was in the package), Tim pulled back the brown paper and unrolled it gently. The was a soft clink, and then a silver cylinder dropped into his hand. Even more confused, Tim examined it from all angles, looking for, well, something when his fingers brushed an indent and the capsule popped open. Blinking, Tim gently turned the container over and a wooden Robin landed in the palm of his hand.

It was...sweet? Carefully, Tim rolled the trinket around in his palm, noting small indents that indicated its homemade origins-since when could Bart carve?-and the small engraved T and D.

Grinning, Robin tucked the gift into a padded pocket in his utility belt, standing up strait and firing his grappling hook. His cape flapped excitedly behind him as Tim made his way to the nearest Zeta tube; Gotham could do without Robin for one night.

Bart was in need of some Christmas spirit.

 **A/N**  
 **...ya, I know, cheesy ending(?), but I felt like I needed to make for such a depressing previous chapter :)**

 **Sooooo, as of now until about two weeks from now, (at least) I'm probably not going to be able to update anything due to rehearsals (it's already the end of the season ! *cries*). Go ahead and Review, PM or whatever if you have ideas, suggestions, or anything else and I'll do my best to reply!**

 **Review if u want another chapter!**

 **Kisses!**  
 **Alyss**


	3. Clown's Revenge

**A/N**

 **...I dunno where this one came from, but...um...it's kinda violent...YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!**

 **Disclaimer: Don't own. Wanna, though...**

 **Chapter 3**

 **Clown's Revenge**

The world was a variety of beautiful colors, a rainbow, really, the air was permeated by a ever hovering mysterious mist, and he was flying. It felt like a dream. Reality, that was.

Everything within it had become a vague speck in his mind, and the moment seemed to stretch on forever. Bart hummed contently, closing his eyes and spreading his arms out to either side, his body perfectly parallel to the ground. Everything was still for once. Usually, Bart hated anything still, the silence, but this still was of the more peaceful sort, so he didn't mind. The quiet was relaxing, for once.

Everything, from the clouds rocketing by his face in slow motion to the rapidly increasing ground, made Bart laugh. He didn't know why, but everything suddenly struck him as hilarious. He was giggling, a full, jolly laugh, belting it out through his throat, his mind completely calm, and then he couldn't stop laughing. The laughing became screams and cries, but the laughter wouldn't stop, Bart couldn't make it, he was so tired, and the laughing hurt so bad, _why wouldn't it just stop_? Tears began to leak out of the corners of his suddenly wide brown eyes as they shot open, and they left a steady stream of liquid, like a trail map that led somewhere, then suddenly stopped and proclaimed ' **YOU ARE HERE** ' in obnoxious block letters that had always annoyed Bart, because duh, he could read (even if it was only a recent development). But Bart really, really, really didn't want this map to end.

A small tingle began to itch the corner of his brain, and Bart tried to grab it, to wake up but his mind was exhausted, he hadn't slept in a week, he couldn't fight it off like he used to. What 'it' was, Bart had no idea, but he didn't like it. It was painful and it was mean, and he _couldn't stop laughing_.

It hurt it hurt it hurt why didn't it just stop already?! He screamed and cried and laughed and giggled, his terrified eyes watching his decent to the very end. Right up until time sped up and he hit the ground, a sickening crack jarring his body, and he couldn't breath but he just kept laughing.

And then there was nothing.

* * *

Pain, Bart was no stranger to pain. Pain was like his daily medication, without the required dosage, things messed up. Pain was a reminder, a sharp slap to wake up to reality (which was getting harder and harder these days).

Really, though, pain was his best friend, Bart idly chatted, tied down to a bed as his body randomly spasmed, his laughter choking him with loss of breath, and, of course, the never ending pain, and he really appreciated them listening to him. Nobody ever really listened to him, Bart explained to the horrified teenagers sitting around his cot as the Bioship rocketed to who knows where, M'gann sitting at the wheel openly sobbing.

Pain was his reminder, Bart lectured, reprimanding himself for laughing out loud, of every wrong thing he'd done, and why the Reach was ever so right to punish them for their stupidity. That was why all the nightmares happened, that's why he never slept, Bart spoke almost conversationally to Tim, because remembering was too much. The tale of his parents death most found enthralling, and Bart had a ball explaining it in exquisite detail, tears streaming down his face as he laughed uncontrollably, a small part of his mind screaming at him to stop.

The broken gazes of his teammates just made him laugh harder, laughing so hard that his heart nearly stopped. It was _hilarious_. Every gruesome detail of the future he expertly delivered, reminiscing of all his faded scars due to his newly earned superpowers (because he'd been very proud of every single little one of those scars, those stories), once he'd escaped the Reach and made the time capsule. Idly, he wondered aloud if Neutron had been murdered yet. Trembling Robin, who seemed to be holding his hand (wasn't that nice, nobody had held him in years Bart snickered and the trembles increased), had tears streaming down his face and Bart giggled and squawked, the muscles in his chest feeling like they were ripping themselves apart. Just like another experiment, Bart chuckled, remembering how the Blue Beetle had made it his personal mission to make all metas lab rats (Jamie was busy heaving on the floor. Bart wondered when he had gotten there?). Bart had been one for a while, in which days became weeks and weeks became years which became decades as time randomly spun 'round, collar on, collar off.

Needles and medications and painful silver tools that made Bart sick, it wove the best story, and look how interested they were, Bart exclaimed, every single eye in the Bioship trained on him. If he had known it would've been this easy, he would've spouted the future long ago and saved himself the trouble of keeping it a secret, because no one was supposed to know, Bart giggled. Neutron had made him promise so they wouldn't ruin the time stream, but wasn't that the point? Besides, what did Nathaniel know?, Bart wondered, because he wouldn't survive long without Bart there to help him. Eh, it was a long time coming, and probably a relief-everyone in the future wanted to die, Bart explained, except the Reach. But the overseers always caught them, made them suffer through that eternity even longer-and every single one of them got a reminder.

It never ends! It's like that song that keeps on going, but it's even worse than that, it's freaking _life_ that just won't _end_ , leavehim _alone_ , why was it _always_. _Him_.

Slowly, Bart became aware that the blackness was coming again as he became lightheaded and there were shouts echoing around his brain, but his tired body just shut down.

God, why did it never end...?

 _W_

o

o

o

 **o**

 **o**

 **o**

 _ **o**_

 _ **o**_

 _ **s**_

 _ **h**_

When Bart woke up, it was silent. Not the bad kind of silent, the one that made you shriek for hours, but not the good one, where friendships were so close that conversation was just not needed.

No, not silent, Bart corrected himself. At his bedside table stood a heart monitor, the continuous beeping monitoring his fast (thankfully, normal) beating heart.

When he rolled his head to the other side, wincing at the crick in his neck, he nearly jumped out of the bed in surprise.

All of his teammates were sprawled around the sick bay, splayed across the chairs in some random pattern of exhaustion, like something out of one of Wally's silly comics. Jamie was upside down and halfway on the floor, his knees folded over the top of his chair that he was sharing with Conner, who was sitting in his chair silently with an arm curled around one of Jamie's feet, little puffs of air penetrating his lips every few second (Bart would _pay money_ to see their reaction when they woke up!). M'gann was curled up around Garfield, his head tucked under hers neatly in a very heart-warming way. Cassie was snoring, her head lolling across the arm rest and her legs propped on Tim's lap. Tim himself was sitting bolt upright in his chair, perfect posture that made even _Bart_ jealous.

The whole thing made the speedsters heart warm, a soft fluttering that seemed to burst from his heart and travel to his head and all the way down to his toes. It was a nice feeling, and Bart smiled contently, wincing as he jostled his bandaged ribs. So, perhaps this wasn't the future, or his old family, but this new one was shaping up pretty crash.

Grinning, Bart closed his eyes and let himself fall into a deep slumber. His friends had him covered.

 **A/N**

 **WAIT! This was NOT supposed to be the end of this arc! Dangit, I had so much more planned! Oh, well. If y'all want to see more, let me know! I could probably squeeze in a few more chapters ;) Thank you so much for reading and supporting this story, it's meant a lot to me! Hope to see y'all again soon.**

 **(Also, new story coming soon, *hint hint*. Already wrote chapter one...Might add it onto this one or make it a completely different story, tell me guys what you think I should do!)**

 **Kisses!**

 **Alyss**


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